


In the Heart of Winter

by Jango27



Category: Agent Carter (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Crossover, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Red Room
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-06-04 15:37:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6664432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jango27/pseuds/Jango27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Her eyes are impossibly large and luminous in the darkness, a thousand emotions hidden in their depths. Only one truly conveys itself though: danger. Danger and fear and blood." AU from The Iron Ceiling. Russia provides more than a possible link to Leviathan, there's a little girl called Natalia Romanova, fighting for a life outside what the Red Room had forced upon her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**It's been far too long since I've published much of anything, but I've had so many stories running through my head I can barely get anywhere without being sidetracked! This story works on the idea of what would happen if Natasha was one of the little girls at the facility in Russia when Peggy and the Howling Commandos infiltrate in the Iron Ceiling. Basically, it mucks with everything in the MCU, but I just wanted to see my two favorite characters together! I'd also wanted to get a bit further into writing before publishing, but the very near (!) release of Civil War has made me impulsive.**

**As always, I own nothing of these amazing characters.**

**Hope you enjoy!**

Prologue:

Like many times in Peggy Carter's life, there're moments where it seems that all she knows is being torn apart, bit by fragile bit. It's moments like those where she's floundering, swept up in a tide dragging her out to sea, and all of a sudden there's no real account of time, no awareness of the world around her. There's simply a Before and an After.

( _Before: Steve, holding her close, necessitated by the fierce cold and size of the military cot they're resting on. There's a thousand emotions setting her alight from the inside, burning through her like fire, but for once she's allowing it, allowing herself to fall into the flames, and it's terrifying and exhilarating all at once_.)

( _After: She's alone. Truly alone. This was the inevitable fallout. If she was freefalling before then this is her hitting the ground. And he's gone he's gone he's_ -)

Making the distinction between the two is easy; it's whatever decisions bought her to this moment, staring down the barrel of a gun held in the too-small hands of the girl she should've killed only days ago.

Natasha's green eyes are glazed over in a way Peggy has never seen; expressionless, unseeing, every bit the young assassin the Russians had been trying to forge her into. It's terrifying, but not in the way it should be.

It's terrifying, because despite the obvious threat to her life, there's not a fiber in Peggy's body that is prepared to kill the girl in front of her. There's anger for sure, but it's not directed towards Natasha. Rather, it's for the many people that have orchestrated this confrontation.

Leviathan… The Red Room...Peggy herself too, because God knows, she's played a horribly large role in why Natasha's in this situation now, back in the manipulative hands of the monsters who'd had her before- the very ones Peggy had told her she was safe from.

Just how many broken promises will she have made before the night is over? Too many to count, apparently. Too many to be any semblance of acceptable.

"Natasha," Peggy says. It's a reminder, of all her confessed hopes and fears, of all that name represents.

 _("I'd liked to be Natasha. Natasha… not Natalia_ ")

Peggy's hands are held up in surrender, completely weaponless and ultimately at the mercy of this girl. She can't outrun a bullet, not in a thousand years. If Natasha wants her dead, she's dead.

"I am loyal to mother Russia," Natasha finally replies, her voice small, almost carried away in the brisk wind that's blowing through.

Peggy sees her finger tighten on the trigger, and her heart stutters, knowing full well the deadly speed the girl possesses.

She'd seen it herself, after all.

Before.

(- _another girl seemingly flashes into existence in a blur of red hair, throwing a kick that catches Peggy at her wrist-_ )

She's just hoping they'll both live long enough to see an After.

* * *

**Thank you for giving this a read! It's a super short prologue, but I needed a hook before going back to the Iron Ceiling episode. First chapter should be up really soon :) If you could please leave a review letting me know any thoughts you have so far, it'd be amazing, but thank you regardless for reading!**

**-F**


	2. Ice and Fire

**Well hello there :)**

**This chapter's based pretty much on the Iron Ceiling (with one noticeable difference of course...). The main thing I will be changing with regards to the tv show is the pacing. There's only about 3 episodes between when the Red Room is introduced and the season finale, and that's definitely not enough time to develop the relationships I'm aiming for within this story. It's not the sort of thing I want rushed, so I'm hoping it does these characters justice, because both Natasha Romanoff and Peggy Carter are my absolute favourites.**

**Meanwhile, 6 days till I see civil war! How's everyone doing? I have one major theory that's terrifying me bout now, and it's part of the reason I've started posting this story before I'd planned...**

**Anyway, sorry, hope you enjoy this chapter!**

**...**

Chapter one:

If you asked Peggy Carter what bothered her the most about what she was seeing, there'd be a clear answer.

It wasn't the rows upon rows of child-sized beds, neatly made with military precision, handcuffs adding to the steadily growing horror of the place. It wasn't the film roll of cartoons embedded with Cyrillic messages of fear and hate and obedience. All those things are naturally concerning- it means the Russians are prepared to do anything to create the perfect spy, it means that potential Soviet agents could be spread anywhere virtually undetected because, as Peggy knew far too well, a woman could be so completely underestimated.

So no, although this academy in Belarus was slowly integrating into a picture that was becoming alarmingly intricate, it wasn't what immediately had Peggy on edge.

The sense that every move they made was being watched however…

With her gun held steadily in front of her, Peggy makes her way slowly between the rows of beds. There's a strange silence to the place, as if the air itself is holding its breath, and despite their soft tread the footfalls of Dugan and Juniper behind her seem to echo like cannon fire. Maybe that's just the adrenaline though, which is making everything stand out in sharp relief; the absolute grimness with its peeling walls and absence of colour, the dust motes betraying its emptiness.

And there, against one of the beds, the curled up form of a tiny girl, her blonde hair held back tightly in to braids.

Dum Dum shoots Peggy a glance that she clearly understands, because this is quite honestly the last place a girl that age should be and every nerve in Peggy' s body is just screaming at her at how _wrong_ this is.

But ever the one to act impulsively, Dugan asks in a falsely-positive voice, "hey there, you okay?"

He approaches the girl when there's no answer, crouching down to her level with his hands raised to show his lack of weapons. The girl peers up at him with eyes bright with tears and an intelligence that sends chills down Peggy's spine. No one that young should have eyes with that sort of fierce intensity.

Dugan continues, crooning soft assurances like "we're not here to hurt you" until the girl reaches out a tentative hand to point at the ridiculous hat Dum Dum's worn ever since Peggy can remember.

"You like my hat?" he asks. She nods in return, a ghost of a smile flitting across her young face. "It's called a bowler hat, the reason they call it that is because…" he trails off, turning to face Peggy with a playful frown, "why do they call it a bowler, Peggy?"

The girl moves in a flash, faster than anyone can fully comprehend.

The second their gaze is off her, the girl moves, pulling out a compact knife from behind her which she stabs directly into Dugan's chest. As he falls, she snatches his gun, ducking behind a pillar and firing a shot that hits Juniper directly over his heart.

An almost guaranteed kill. An expert shot.

Peggy surges forward, managing to catch the girl's shoulder tightly, desperately stopping her from firing off another potentially deadly round. Then immediately there's a burning pain as another girl, seemingly flashing into existence with a blur of red hair, throws a kick that catches Peggy at her wrist, forcing her to release her grip with a sharp gasp.

They both move like shadows, sprinting together to the far side of the room and rolling into a small vent at the bottom of the wall. There's a brief second, before she disappears fully from view, where the second girl, the one with red hair like a flame, turns back to face them. Her gaze immediately locks onto Peggy's, impossibly large and luminous in the darkness. There's a thousand emotions hidden in their depths, but only one truly conveys itself, if just because Peggy feels it deep within the very walls of this place:

 _Danger_. _Danger and fear and blood_.

And it's that look that causes Peggy to freeze, partly because of just how terribly she'd misread the situation. They'd come to Russia to explore a potential link to Howard Stark and Leviathan, but they'd encountered something so much worse.

With a growl, Dugan yanks the blade from his chest, striding forward with a murderous fire in his eyes.

"They're just little girls," Peggy tries to reason, knowing full well the horrible, horrible consequences that arise when her old friend looks like this.

"They're killers," he spits back, needlessly gesturing to where there's a large red stain spreading down Juniper's chest and, even from this distance, Peggy can see the shallowness of his breaths, the paleness of his skin.

Peggy's been in this business for a long time, she knows when something's hopeless- which means she also knows just how dangerous lack of hope is, almost as much as an abundance.

She reaches out to grab Dugan's shoulder, spinning him around roughly. "But they're still just girls. Look me in the eye and tell me honestly that you believe they're acting on their own accord. War makes killers, Dugan, but it doesn't create child assassins."

Dugan's jaw clenches, tension visibly thrumming through his body like electricity. On his coat is a slash from the knife, but his vest must've protected Dugan from actual harm, "That one girl killed our friend," he says, his voice as quiet as Peggy had ever heard.

"And she will pay for it, just not with her life."

They stare at each other for a long moment, sharing grief over the fact that another- _another_ \- of their friends had died. A lot of people didn't understand soldiers; it wasn't one big wound that got you in the end, it was the ongoing pain of a thousand cuts, each friend gone just adding to the burden.

Here today with Juniper- another gone. Another cut.

The scars of her friends, Peggy had learnt, never fully faded.

(And god _, Steve_.)

"What happened?" comes a new voice. They spin around as the other group, headed by Thompson, storms into the room- alerted probably by the gunshots and yelling. And if they'd been able to hear it…

"There's a good chance Leviathan has been alerted to our presence," Peggy says coolly.

Thompson's eyes fall to Juniper's body on the ground. "We've come too far to turn back now," he murmurs.

There's a moment of hushed silence then as Dugan kneels down beside his fallen friend and breaks off the dog tags from around his neck. Juniper had family back home, Peggy knew; no father, but a mother that worked two jobs to keep their flat in Brooklyn. And a sister, maybe? They'd be notified, but not now.

Not when there was still a job to do.

Standing tall, Peggy divides the group, sending half to find an eventual way out, while the rest goes with her to explore what else this house of horrors can offer them.

For one of the first times, Peggy agrees with Jack Thompson. They'd come too far, lost too much already, to not find any answers now.

* * *

They move deeper into the building, their reduced number and threat of the unknown pushing them to paranoia. They knew they weren't alone now, and in every shadowy corner they imagine a little girl with a face of pure innocence while her hands dripped red. In every sudden sound are potential gunshots that echo down the corridors. For Peggy, it's the memory of those green eyes staring at her with a haunting malevolence.

Much like the large hall filled with beds from before, they come across several rooms that, for mostly unexplainable reasons, send chills down Peggy's spine. It's small things, much like the handcuffs, that just add a sense of horrible purpose; locks on the doors- but on the outside, keeping someone within. A room obviously intended for science, but with the anatomy of a human highlighting fatal points.

And perhaps most hauntingly, a ballet studio with polished wood floors and a barre across the back wall, the whole room filled with a deadly, impossible silence.

It's only as they reach the very bottom of the building that there's any sign of another human. There's a long corridor, tiled in white, with a lounging guard against a door at the far end.

He looks slightly less relaxed half a second later as two bullets from Sawyer's gun slam into his chest.

Thompson takes point then. Only a short way down past the guard is a cell door; dark, cramped, with two men staring out at them uncertainly. It's a hell hole of a place to be kept in, but after the morning Peggy's had she's come to expect nothing more from the Soviets.

One speaks English, and introduces himself as Ivchenko while the other, noticeably unstable, is Nikolai, a supposed genius with regards to engineering. His presence is explainable; if the Russians had gotten their hands on some of Stark's designs, they'd need someone to make them.

Ivchenko though, when they ask, says only "I'm Nikolai's therapist… his psychiatrist."

"So the Reds locked up a head doctor and a mad scientist," Jack clarifies skeptically, "sure, why not?"

It's only as Nikolai brings out the plans for an invention that alters the motion of light waves that he catches Thompson's attention. "Is Stark here?"

It immediately becomes apparent that it was entirely the wrong thing to say. Nikolai goes mad, his movements jerky as he spits out "No- no of course not! They stole all of this. If- if Leviathan had him here, they'd have no need for _me_ ," his hands are shaking heavily, "if he was here, I'd be under lock and key with my wife!"

Ivchenko murmurs soft words in Russian, something that immediately calms the mad mutterings of the scientist. "You thought you would find Howard Stark here?" the therapist asks, "that's why you're here? I've heard no mention of Stark from our captors, just the designs."

Then suddenly there's loud crashes from outside, followed by a warning from Sawyer about incoming assailants. Peggy shoots the lock off the cell and together they run, bullets slamming into the wall where they'd just been standing.

There's no time to think then, only react, as they sprint through what soon becomes a maze of corridors and pipe works. "Dugan!" Peggy yells into her radio, "we're in the boiler room; we need an exit now!" She fires off several rounds , sees at least one man go down, then turns to face the two prisoners. Nikolai's on his knees, hands covering his ears as he rocks back and forth, muttering to himself in indistinguishable Russian. "Gentleman, if either of you know the way out of this building now's the time to share it."

Agent Li is crouched behind a concrete pillar, but he shouts out, "yeah, use that big brain-"

He doesn't finish. A bullet catches him in the back, throwing him to the ground.

_(Another cut…)_

The shot came from behind him, and Peggy sees a small figure- the first girl, the one with blonde hair and a face of innocence that had cost Juniper his life- drop down from an air duct. There's no sign of the second girl, but surely she can't be far behind, and God, she doesn't want to kill a child but how can't she now? This girl in particular has killed two agents and both have proved themselves to be just as dangerous as a fully grown man- more so, considering the fact that an adult's mercy provides the girls with the mere seconds they need to strike a fatal blow.

 _Steve_ … Steve wouldn't kill a child. Never in a million years would he take that option.

But Steve wasn't here. He'd never be with her again.

(And that absolutely killed her- every day, over and over again.)

There's a new-found fire inside Peggy then, a rage that sets her veins alight and her head pounding with the injustice of the world. Steve- kind, good, selfless Steve- had given his life in the fight against the type of evil these girls represented. And she knew- God, she knew- that it was almost immeasurably cruel to place that sort of blame on a child who had probably known nothing different, but who knew what they'd grow up to be in the future? The world lived in the shadow of a war that had devastated millions, and with the growing tensions between America and Russia, God only knows what the conflict would arise to. And these two girls, how many lives would they claim when that happened?

But now her morbid thoughts have sacrificed many precious seconds, Peggy realises with a start, cursing herself when she sees that the girl has once again disappeared from sight. She can still hear the harsh shots erupting from what can only be a rifle though, so she must be somewhere near.

Looking behind her, Peggy sees Thompson and the others crouching behind pillars, firing out rounds whenever they're not pinned down themselves. As long as their intermittent shots remain somewhat constant, the Russians should stay relatively cautious about approaching, so the biggest concern- apart from the presence of two child assassins, with only one accounted for- is conserving ammo now until Dugan can find a way to break them out.

"I know what to do…" a voice mutters, the Russian accent distant in Peggy's focused mind, "I know what to do!"

Then there's a sudden shout of protest from someone behind her, and as Peggy spins around her blood runs cold at the sight of Sawyer, a gun pressed to his temple by the shaking hands of the Russian scientist they'd so recently liberated.

Nikolai marches forward, holding Sawyer much like a shield against the soldiers. He's begging with them in stuttering Russian, trying to offer an enemy's life in return for his own.

There's no time to analyze what's happening- everything's falling apart with the rapid concession of an avalanche and there's simply nothing for her to do except react.

Her friend's life is in danger. That means she has to _do something_.

Fortunately- unfortunately? The line between the two is alarming indistinct sometimes, but once again Peggy forces that thought to the back of her mind; a mindset to obsess over when the nights seem infinite- fortunately, someone acts before her.

There's a shot that breaks the tense stalemate of the room, and Nikolai falls with a sickening cloud of red mist. Sawyer staggers forward a few paces, shock at his close brush with death making him stumble slightly as he turns to face his savior. And it's not any of the Commandos. It's not even one of the SSR. There's just Ivchenko, holding a gun in his shaking hands, staring with horror-filled eyes at the body of the man he'd protected for so long.

The Russian therapist falls to the ground, hands hovering over Nikolai's still form like he can't quite bear to touch him. As another wave of bullets hits where Peggy is crouching, she forces herself to focus back on the scene at hand. There's less soldiers against them now, she guesses from the slightly less rapid sounds of gunfire, but enough than an exit from Dugan is their only chance.

"I'm out of ammo!" Sawyer shouts at her.

Peggy curses, ducking back down to load her final round. It's then that she catches sight of Thompson. She'd lost track of him when Li had been shot, but she'd assumed he'd been firing right alongside them regardless. She'd expected him to be fighting. But he's just… sitting there… staring back at her with something Peggy can only describe as desperation in his eyes. She shouts his name and his eyes flick over to her, panicked and paranoid. She's seen that look before- God, so many times- but it's such a far cry from the cocky agent she'd labelled him as that it stuns her completely.

And then his eyes widen imperceptibly, fixed not on Peggy, but something behind her.

Peggy spins around. But she's too late.

The girl had flashed into existence again- the blonde, the one responsible for the deaths of Li and juniper- rolling out from God knows where, levelling her rifle at Peggy's head. Her finger tightens on the trigger.

Then there's a shot.

But not the one Peggy had been bracing herself for.

The girl jerks suddenly, hands falling to her side as a true look of shock passes over her face. It's a strangely childlike look of disbelief, one that Peggy never would have believed her capable of. She supposes it's justified though, when she sees the growing red stain on the girls chest.

And like a puppet with its strings cut, she falls to the ground, eyes open and unseeing and her blonde plaits dull in the grey light of the bunker.

(Oh God…)

It's a terrible image, the dead body of a child, one that Peggy's sure has burned itself on the back of her eyes, to haunt her whenever she sleeps. But she doesn't have enough time to analyse where the shot had come from, because then there's an explosion. The back wall collapses inwards in a rush of debris; bricks and concrete flying out in all directions and a ferocious sound that blasts through Peggy's eardrums as she falls to the ground.

What comes next is a hazy set of images. In the first, there's a blur of dust and the silhouette of a man running towards her. There's a ringing in her ears and something trickling down her face and all Peggy can think is, _God damn it, Dugan_. He always overdid it with the explosives.

Then there are hands on her arms, pulling her upright and dragging her to the newly-formed hole in the wall. All at once its snow that's crunching under her feet and crisp air in her lungs and flashing through Peggy's mind is the haunting memory of the limp body on the ground and of green eyes and fear and _run_.

She coughs against the frigid air, blinking heavily in a frantic attempt to clear her vision. Peggy has enough presence of mind to keep her feet moving forward so she's not effectively being dragged by Dugan towards the truck. All the same, she's well aware of just how horribly this mission has gone wrong. Yes, they'd liberated a Russian prisoner, one who had potential important information about the dealings of Leviathan. But the men they'd lost, Li and Juniper. And that little girl, her too young body lying broken on the floor.

With that thought, Peggy freezes, sending Dugan stumbling forward a few paces.

"Peg, the hell are you doing, we have to move!" he yells at her, yanking her shoulder harshly. She can't bring herself to respond to him though, because her mind has seemingly come to a standstill with the single thought of _, oh god, where was the second one?_

She spins out of Dugan's reach. "That girl's still in there!"

He stares, incredulous, "a girl? One of those killers?! No way in _hell_ am I letting you risk your life by going back there for her."

Her anger flares suddenly, irrationally, at the implication. "You don't get to _let me_ do anything. She's a child, Dugan, and I'm not about to lea-"

"Agent, look!" It's the Russian psychiatrist, pointing a shaking hand back towards the facility.

She follows his sight, and audibly gasps. Dugan uses her shock as an opportunity to continue dragging her forward, and this time she offers little resistance. Because where the facility had been, where they'd lost two agents and uncovered more horrors than any of them could've imagined, there's only a blazing fire, the building lost amid crackling red and orange flames. And Peggy can do little but watch.

At this point, she has no idea whether or not the screams that are echoing in her ears are those of the men still trapped inside or the howling winter wind.

* * *

**Bit of a hard chapter to write this one, but I'm hoping the next will be more interesting! It has Natasha and Peggy actually talking for one thing, so we'll actually get along with the story. Still a long way from where the prologue left though...**

**Thank you so much once again for giving this a read! Update should be soon, hopefully :)**

**-F**


	3. Conscious

**Heya :)**

**Firstly, so so so sorry for the time it took to get this out. I must've written this chapter at least 5 times before I figured enough was enough. Thank you so much for bearing with this, and for any support you have given :)**

**Hope the wait was worth it... :p**

_ Chapter two: _

It's a strange sort of silence that has fallen over the agents and Commandos. To any outsider it would appear as grief and loss- and for the most part it is. They'd lost good men in that facility; men that had families. There were calls to be made. Next of kin to be notified and Dugan was continuously running his fingers over the engraved letters and numbers of Juniper's dog tag, no doubt dreading that particular conversation he was faced with.

It was undeniably sadness dampening the air, but it was the newfound sense of kinship that kept them moving; the one that's forged in the heat of gunfire, with adrenaline flooding through veins and no sense of anything apart from the men standing beside you.

Peggy leans back against a tree, wrapping herself tighter in her thick coat and letting out a breath that clouds in the air like white smoke. Unlike the night before, the temperature was far cooler despite the fire that crackled heartily in the centre of their makeshift group. Or maybe before it'd been the jokes and levity that had simply made the cold bearable and now, with the silence that gripped their reduced number in a fragile embrace, they were far more susceptible to the frigid air.

It was the cold and damp air that had made their pilot hesitant about taking off so late in the afternoon. The early-setting sun had resulted in a layer of precipitation to coat the wings and body of the plane, solidifying into a hard shell of ice with the drop in temperature. Such a thing made air travel dangerous, the pilot had warned in a thick Brooklyn accent, better to leave the next day where the pale Russian sun would at least offer some degree of warmth.

Despite his wise words, Peggy had found herself frowning at the man's decision. She'd had enough of Russia; enough of its cruelty that hid behind a façade of wartime necessity.

And she certainly wasn't the only one.

The Russian therapist, Ivchenko, had turned an alarming shade of white when he'd learned that his escape to America would have to be postponed one more night. He'd glanced over his shoulder into the bare trees that surrounded them, as if each one hid a Soviet soldier to drag him back to his cell, and considering the conditions the Russian had been exposed to, Peggy couldn't really blame him.

She couldn't contain a shudder at the expressionless mask that had the two little girls' faces contorted into something far more sinister than should be possible at such a young age. There were a thousand doubts she had about the Soviets, everyone seemed to these days, but never in her worst nightmares had Peggy thought them possible of the kind of horrors they'd seen in that facility. The handcuffs on the beds, the hidden words within Snow White; she almost resented the fact that the building had probably been burnt to a crisp in the fire, if just because any and all evidence of the Russian's treachery would've been destroyed along with it.

Peggy's eyes shift to the right, where Thompson's form is hunched over, his eyes glazed over and mirroring the flickering red and orange flames from the fire like dull planes of glass. He hasn't so much as looked at her since they'd run from the Russian facility; since he'd frozen so completely amid the gunfire. She'd say it was that shame keeping his eyes locked downward, but it was somehow more than that. There was a pain there that went further than shellshock, an internal conflict that raged behind his eyes. Peggy knew enough though, to realise that it wasn't the sort of thing she could simply ask Thompson about; if he wanted to talk, he had to be the one to make the first move.

"Peggy," comes a soft voice from her right. It's Dugan, of course, his eyes completely masked in the shadow cast from his ridiculous hat. He'd offered to take the first shift keeping watch and no one- not even Peggy- had had the strength to say otherwise. Sleep wasn't going to come easy to any of them regardless, not with the weight of friends lost, but there was a certain comfort in routine. And that had to count for something. "Try to get some sleep."

There's entirely too much hidden meaning in his voice, and for a second Peggy considers telling him where he can shove his idea of sleep, but the idea of rest is horribly tempting. She's exhausted, and Dugan can obviously see it too, because his mouth falls into an easy smile- one that doesn't entirely reach his eyes, but still lightens his face considerably- before blowing her a mock kiss and saying, "you need your beauty sleep, sweetheart, or maybe a beauty coma."

"Bastard," she mutters, just loud enough to let him hear it.

She lets her eyes flutter closed with the sound of his chuckle softly cutting through the air.

* * *

_There's music in her ears, some soft strains of a melody that drifts through the air and falls softly to the floor. Peggy can't recognize the song, but that's the last thing on her mind. Because he's standing in front of her. Young and whole and strong, his blonde hair combed neatly to the side and blue eyes startling in the light. She knows there're people around them, sees the figures in the corner of her eye, but when he smiles at her their presence is as insignificant as the music._

_Steve takes her hand, pulls her close, looks at her with those eyes that disarm her in every way. They spin around in dizzying circles, faster and faster till Peggy's laughing and breathless. Burying her face in his chest, Peggy smiles softly at the feeling of his hand brushing through her hair. "You still don't know how to dance," she teases._

_His hand stops. Everything stops._

_"Steve?" Peggy looks up, alarmed at his silence, questioning whether he would've really felt offence at her words. But there wasn't anyone around them anymore, only a never-ending blackness and a silence that seemed alive with malevolence. "Steve, what's going on?"_

_Firmly pushing away from her embrace, the soldier takes several slow steps backwards. "What do you want me to say, Peg? You could've saved me."_

_A knife has just been plunged into her heart, that's the only explanation for the staggering pain that suddenly grips her. "Steve… Steve, please, I'm sorry." She's all too aware that she's said his name countless times now, but it's natural the way it falls from her lips._

_Steve gives a bitter laugh- something so obscenely out of character that a sob claws its way up her throat. "Sorry doesn't answer for my death." And then, right in front of Peggy's eyes, red lines appear on his face, streaks of blood snaking down his cheeks and dripping to the floor. Bruises blossom around his eyes and mouth, deep purple and blue marks where only moments ago was smooth skin._

_"You could've saved me, Peg,"_

_His skin turns a waxy sort of white, lips purpling as he chokes on each breath. There's a wildness to his eyes now, something desperate and accusing. With blood staining his fingertips, Steve reaches out to her, his hands making their way to her throat, and despite the utter fear roaring like fire through her veins Peggy can't bring herself to move._

_"Peggy," he coughs out, blood bubbling from his lips._

_His grips closes around her throat and God no, please please plea-_

"Peggy!"

She jerks upward. Steve's name is a scream on her lips, desperate to be let loose, but there's an instinctual regard for their precarious surroundings has Peggy smothering it quickly. With her heartbeat thrumming in her ears, she reaches for her gun, looking around for a potential threat and finding only Dugan, an uncharacteristic look of shock pulling at his face.

"What? What happened?" she's on her feet in an instant. It's not yet dawn, and their surroundings are hidden in dark shrouds of shadow. The fires burnt out too, leaving only glowing embers and s plume of smoke that rises in the air in soft, curling spirals. At the sight of their sleeping companions, Peggy sends a questioning glance at the Commando, confused as to what could've happened that Dugan only woke her up for.

His only answer is to hand her a plain brown folder which, with a frown, Peggy opens immediately.

The front page bears a symbol that's all too familiar: the almost heart-shaped outline that she'd grown to associate with Leviathan.

She flips quickly through the smooth, paper-clipped pages, clutching them in her grip as if daring someone to try taking this away from her, from taking away what could possibly be a significant lead on Leviathan. From her quick glance over, there's a myriad of information staining the paper, completely invaluable and utterly confusing.

"Where did you get this?" she hisses. Her voice is an accusing whisper, fully aware of their sleeping companions but needing an immediate answer as to how this information fell so easily into their hands.

Dugan shifts slightly on is feet, huffing out a breath that hangs in the air. "You ain't gonna believe me. Hell, I don't even know what's going on anymore."

"Dugan, _where did you get this_?"

He stares at her for a few seconds, his eyes unfathomable in the semi-darkness. "I hope you have an answer for this, Peg," is all he says.

And then his eyes shift to something behind her.

She spins around, automatically raising her gun. She doesn't know what to expect; a soldier perhaps, a Russian who'd survived the fire, and is now trying to buy his freedom with information scrounged from the ashes. The reality is probably the most expected outcome, yet the one she's desperately trying to ignore.

Maybe because it makes everything infinitely more complicated.

Maybe because Peggy doesn't know why there's a small part of her mind that feels as if an enormous weight has just been lifted off.

Regardless, it was impossible to miss the figure of a small girl, one with red hair that glinted in the low light like blood.

It's reflexes that has Peggy tightening her grip on the gun, her index finger instinctively resting on the trigger. The girl obviously sees this, as she freezes instantly, her body rigid as a statue, eyeing both soldiers with as much trepidation Peggy is sure is present on her own face.

"Give me one reason I shouldn't shoot you right now," she says, her voice cold. In the corner of her eye, Peggy's aware of Dugan's presence. He's not forcing away her gun, but he certainly hasn't drawn his own and she wonders exactly what game her old friend's playing. He'd been the one to fall into the first girl's trap; surely he wouldn't make the same mistake now?

The girl's body is still wrought with tension, but her eyes flicker over to the remnants of the fire, where the other men are sleeping. Her young face is contemplative. "не здесь," she finally whispers. _Not here_.

Not here? So she did come for a reason, but one she doesn't want the others to overhear? Peggy glances at Dugan, and sees his eyes filled with the same sense of caution. Drawing them out to a trap would be the most logical explanation, but why would she try to get just one person alone killed? Surely, with the skills Peggy's sure this girl has been trained with, she'd know to get them all in one go?

Peggy makes a quick decision. "Fine, but I pick where we talk." She says the words in English- deliberately- but the girl obviously understands, as she nods, slinking back a few steps yet watching them with the same penetrating gaze.

Dugan's instantly gone from Peggy's side, but his heavy footsteps crunching through the light layer of snow carries through the air. There's whispered words as he wakes up one of the men- Sawyer, probably, by the fair amount of grumbling swears that come next- then he's back. At her unasked question he simply gives her a look, as if to say 'of course I'm not letting you go through this alone, who the hell do you think I am?'

He's probably expecting her to roll her eyes; she doesn't. They've both seen the deadly speed this girl possesses, and they're both not fool enough to believe themselves invulnerable.

She sees Dugan's train of thought, though. Obviously someone has to replace his role as guard, and whoever that is will instantly see the two empty spaces. Anyone would think that Dugan and Peggy had gone for some late-night romancing- anyone expect one of the Commandos. They'd know better.

"Right then," Peggy looks back at the girl, who's visible now only by the coppery hue of her hair. "Follow me."

She leads them through the bare expanse of trees. They're far enough apart to have allowed a layer of snow to fall through and coat the ground, and with the early morning frost their feet crunch through several inches of a crisp, powdery coating- all except for the girl, who follows cautiously like a ghost several metres behind Peggy and Dugan.

Despite the fact that Peggy should be taking them to any random spot, she can't help but somewhat follow the track back to the clearing where their plane is resting. This way at least, she reasons, if the worst comes to the worst they'll have some form of cover nearby. But she doesn't want to be too far away from potential backup either.

With that final thought, Peggy stops abruptly. She looks to Dugan, getting a supportive nod in return. He'd had her back, Peggy realises, for countless adventures; supported her through ridiculously dangerous situations. These were the relationships that she took for granted, the ones she consistently trusted to be by her side simply because they'd been there every time before.

That's when, with the force of a speeding bullet (something Peggy is unfortunately very much accustomed to), a truly horrifying thought suddenly occurs to her: did it make her a horrible person to expect so much from her friends, when they'd be so much safer without her? Certainly, if she hadn't asked for their help for this mission, Juniper would still be alive. What if right here, right now, she was about to get Dugan killed too? Just because she felt the need to listen to a girl who she had absolutely no business in trusting.

Blinking out of her daze, Peggy sees Dugan staring at her intently, a frown creasing his features like he knows- just knows- exactly what she's thinking, knows what she's going to ask next.

Steve might have listened to her. Dugan certainly doesn't.

"Right then," he says gruffly, turning to face the girl in an obvious display of his own intentions. "What's your name, kid?"

The girl in question is standing a careful distance away, cautious of the guns that both Peggy and Dugan are holding- not quite pointing at her, but close enough for reflex. Even from this space it's easy to see the tension that tightens her limbs and keeps her eyes snapping to every movement, and yet there's very little emotion to her face. It's a strange juxtaposition that only further accentuates her mystery.

And looking up at them with mirrored eyes, she answers softly, "my name is Natalia Romanova."

* * *

**This chapter was going to go on for a whole lot longer, but here seemed like a far more natural place for a break, and I am trying to draw out the whole storyline, given that from this episode to the season finale is only about 3 or 4 episodes, and that definitely isn't enough time to develop the relationship I want between Peggy and Natasha.**

**Once again, thank you so much for reading, next chapter will be out a lot faster, I promise, and will finally start getting onto proper plot...**

**-F**


	4. With the Rising Sun

**Heya!**

**Sorry bout the super long wait guys (remember when I said this would be out faster! Ha). But it's a super long chapter that's finally starting to get the plot going, so hopefully it was worth it :)**

**Thank you for sticking with it!**

_ Chapter Three: With the Rising Sun _

"My name is Natalia Romanova."

 _Natalia_. So one of the illusive shadows has a name, and a common Russian one at that. Romanova, though… a part of Peggy's mind calls back to the last ruler of the Tsarist regime; the family that'd been brutally wiped out shortly after the Bolshevik revolution. They'd been the Romanovs. That's a useless bit of information though, Peggy scolds, surely nothing more than a coincidence.

"Natalia," giving introductions seemed like such an odd thing to be doing under such circumstances, "this is Dugan, and I'm-"

"I know who you are," Natalia's voice is a mere whisper, but it strikes Peggy mute. "Peggy Carter. You loved Captain America."

She throws out the words so casually, clear but carrying the slight lilt of an accent, and yet they hit with the force of bullet. Peggy sees Dugan bristle slightly at her side, obviously ready to jump to her defense- but defense against what? It is the words she never got to admit from the mouth of a random girl that has shocked her so severely? Or merely the feelings she associates with reminders of Steve's death?

"I did," she replies. What harm could the admission do, anyway?

"Leave it to the commies to keep track of everything in Cap's life," Dugan spits out. There's a fair amount of venom in his voice, and Peggy knows he's reacting to the mention of his friend; the man who'd once saved him from certain death in a German prisoner camp.

Natalia's striking eyes shift over to Dugan, but she shows no emotion towards the harsh words that'd been thrown at her. "They'd be a fool if they didn't."

The girl thinks logically, Peggy realises then. Or at least has been taught to. She doesn't see with an emotional response, but thinks in terms of strategy. Does that mean she thinks this a game, Peggy wonders, frowning; does she understand the consequences, the pain, that comes with taking a life? Or had the Russians conditioned that out of her too?

But _they_ ; she'd said _they_ , not we. Was that a coincidence too? Or did Natalia see some sort of distinction between her and the communist regime that now ruled her country?

"Natalia," Peggy says again, bringing the girl's gaze back to her. She holds up the folder, the one Dugan had found by their camp. "What's this?"

Natalia blinks, looking somewhat surprised, as though the answer were obvious. "It's what you came here for: information on Leviathan."

Peggy knew as much from the symbol printed on so many of the pages, but all the same she gripped it tighter, knowing it could answer so many of her questions, confused as to why exactly she'd got it. "What do you know about it?"

"Little," the girl admits, shrugging, "It's a Russian organization, very old. We worked with them sometimes." She nods to the file in Peggy's hands, "those're the records of missions."

A name filters through Peggy's mind then, one that she'd seen repeated several times in clear Russian characters from the quick scan she'd given the file. _Красная комната_. "The Red Room," she translates.

An unidentifiable flash streaks through Natalia's eyes, an emotion that contorts her young features into something sinister and horrible. But it's gone in an instant, leaving her face impassive as she nods once in answer.

There's no need to ask what the Red Room does; the girl in front of her was evidence enough.

It was a sick sort of genius. After the years of war and bloodshed, the last thing the world wanted was another conflict, but the tension between Russia and America couldn't be ignored. Natalia was obviously the answer someone had come up with; a new type of soldier, fitted perfectly for a battlefield of secrets and lies; of dark corners and shadows. And who better for that game than a woman? Beautiful, deadly, and brainwashed since childhood. After all, doesn't Peggy herself know better than most just how a woman could be overlooked?

"Why are you telling us this?" Dugan growls out.

There's a pause then as Natalia shifts slightly on her feet. "Because you," she nods at Dugan, "would've thrown that bomb, back in that room, you would've killed us" she turns back to Peggy, "but you stopped him." Contrary to her words, there's no accusation in her voice, only a question, like she doesn't understand _why_ Peggy didn't let her die.

Wasn't that lack of awareness horrifying in itself.

"Because you're a child," Peggy says.

She's not expecting the reaction that follows.

Natalia's eyes flash, her hands curling into fists at her side. Dugan and Peggy instantly raise their guns, ready to fire at any following hint of movement but the girl simply stands there, her body practically thrumming with an anger that sets her gaze alight. "I am not a child," she spits out, accent more prominent than ever and tainting her words thickly.

It's a classic image- a child insisting on being anything but- and yet there's more meaning; more pain and fury behind Natalia's words that gives a substantial amount of weight to her words.

Peggy frowns. "No," she insists, "despite whatever horrors you've seen, you are still a child. And children have a way of being very easily manipulated- no, _don't_ try to argue," she snaps as Natalia opens her mouth, "I didn't let him kill you because above all else I believe you deserved mercy."

Natalia shifts slightly on her feet, and her gaze takes on something that seems to sear right through Peggy. "Dasha still died."

Dasha. _Dasha_. The girl with blonde hair, the one who'd killed Juniper and Li. It's funny how much difference knowing a name makes.

"Was she your friend?" Peggy asks.

Natalia shakes her head, twin braids gently slapping her face. "We didn't have friends."

With each new piece of information Natalia gives it becomes harder and harder for Peggy to maintain her guard. Dasha had been a trained killer, responsible for the deaths of two of Peggy's comrades, and yet she couldn't separate the girl's actions from whatever hell she'd been in. No doubt that was part of their illusion, Peggy reasoned; who wouldn't fall for the innocence of young girls with delicate features?

Dugan frowns. "There were at least twenty beds in that room. Where are the others?"

"Twenty-eight," Natalia corrects, "there were twenty-eight of us. They're all dead now."

In the silence that falls next, Dugan swears, shaking his head. Natalia watches him intently, almost curiously, and it's all Peggy can do not to snap at the girl to just do something; just act like she still possesses some semblance of innocence- was that simply too much to ask for from this Godforsaken country?

"The men," Peggy begins, then has to swallow past a dry mouth, "the guards, did any survive the fire?"

Natalia sneers; an ugly, horrible expression. "Those men were monsters and killers that deserved the very painful death that came to them."

Dugan seems to snap at this, "so what- exactly- makes you any different?"

At this the girl falters, all in an instant seeming to shrink in on herself until her eyes rake the floor. "Ничего." _Nothing_.

There's something so defeated in her tone that Peggy pauses.

Natalia looks back up and, switching back to her accent-lilted English, says quietly, "I don't expect you to believe me, but it's the truth. I have known nothing else outside of this life."

Peggy watches, considering the small figure of the girl in front of them. All that she's worked feverishly for over the past few weeks, risking her job and her freedom, has been to clear Howard's name. She hadn't expected it to be an easy job- not by a long shot- but she hadn't predicted the suitable labyrinth of lies and secrets that had her friend trapped.

How far would she go to save Howard?

That had been a question she'd been confronted with right at the start- and promptly ignored, because that was a line she didn't want to think about. Breaking the law was one thing, but the rapidly-forming idea in her mind now? That was insanity.

She knew it was.

And yet she was still considering it.

So maybe the real question Peggy should be asking herself is how much she's willing to sacrifice for her friend's freedom.

That question seems to jumpstart her brain, and suddenly the answers are all there- not quite straightforward, but certainly logical in her thinking. She already has one guaranteed source for Howard's case, so Peggy's first step is to safeguard that.

"Both prisoners died," she announces suddenly. Dugan stiffens suddenly at her side, but of course he knows her too well to shoot her a surprised look let alone remind her that one of the liberated prisoners is perfectly fine- a little shaken maybe, and anxious to get off Russian ground, but fine.

Natalia's reaction is everything she'd predicted.

Her small form stiffens even more than Peggy had thought possible, arms and legs shaking as her eyes widen. "No!" she shouts, chest heaving with panicked breaths, "no, you're lying!"

"She's not," Dugan says then, obviously catching on to what she was planning as his gruff voice revealed no signs of their lies. "The engineer was shot. The other one we lost in the fire on the way out."

"No," Natalia says again. Her eyes are glazed, unseeing, and Peggy guesses it's from the horror of knowing that the two people she'd presumably been responsible for are gone. God only knows what the Soviets would do for punishment.

It's a thought that Natalia seems to share, because all at once her face falls back into its expressionless mask. Her eyes though… her eyes take on this intensity that seems to pierce right through Peggy's soul, and suddenly it becomes frighteningly clear what the girl wants; why she'd come here in the first place:

"You thought we'd shoot you. You wanted to die."

Peggy vaguely registers Dugan's reaction to her statement, out of the corner of her eye sees him jerk away slightly, sees the way he glances down at the gun in his hands, but all the same it's like she's being crushed under the weight of Natalia's words.

" _Please_ ," the girl continues, "they'll kill me, you _know_ they will, I'm not going back there, I won't, _just kill me_."

There's a wildness to her words now, and with her Russian-tainted accent and sharp eyes it's all too easy to see the sheer desperation that's now gripping the girl.

But Peggy won't give the Natalia what she wants. She won't. She can't.

"No."

Natalia stills, and it's eerie to look at. Because the maelstrom of emotions are still there in her eyes but her body just… stills…

And then the storm breaks.

In a blur of motion, the girl leaps forward, landing into a roll that places her just within distance to sweep out Dugan's legs from underneath him. Unbalanced, he stumbles slightly, lowering his gun giving Natalia the perfect opportunity to propel herself upwards, hooking a leg over his shoulder and using her weight to throw Dugan to the ground.

It's an impressive move, executed with a practiced perfection and obviously designed to be used against far larger opponents. Dugan's swearing, struggling in vain against the expert headlock she now has him in- gently though, carefully, because she's also pressing a small knife against the straining veins in his neck.

Instincts had Peggy react the instant Natalia had moved. But though the gun she's holding is aimed at the girl's head- a guaranteed kill shot- there was one very simple reason why she wouldn't pull the trigger.

Because it was oh so obvious that this girl, one who couldn't be older than twelve, _wanted_ to die.

And God, what did that say about the world? Or, at least, the war-torn society they lived in?

(It said it was more fucked up than when Steve had died to save it, and that somehow made everything worse, because there was a voice there somewhere that whispered; taunting her with cruel words of the worthlessness of his death.)

And so Peggy looks down the barrel of her gun, lined up perfectly with the girl's forehead, and states in a voice as cool as steel, "I'm not going to shoot you."

Then she lowers her weapon.

Dugan growls, trying to buck his body upwards to dislodge the girl, but though her weight is miniscule in comparison to his own the movement achieves nothing. "Fucking hell, Peg," he grits out, "you better know what you're doing here."

What a lie that would be. This was the biggest gamble of her life; right here, looking into the green eyes of a little Russian girl.

"I'm not going to shoot you," Peggy repeats, ignoring Dugan's gruff words, "and you're not going to kill him."

Natalia hisses, pressing her knife into his neck with a dangerous pressure. "And why would I not do that?"

"Because we're going to find out what makes you different from them."

The girl sneers. "How exactly are you going to do that?"

"You're going to come back with us."

At those words, Natalia freezes. She loses her grip on Dugan, enough so that he manages to pull himself away. He staggers back a few paces and, still keeping a careful eye on the girl, warns quietly, "Peg…"

She quiets him quickly with a raised hand. "Your superiors are dead. No one else knows you survived the fire. I can get you to America without anyone being aware. Just tell me all you know about Leviathan- which I know is more than is in this file- and you can be free."

The girl shakes her head vehemently. "No, they'll find me." She offers no explanation as to who exactly 'they' are but, Peggy reasons with a dark sort of humor, it's entirely possible that it's because there's simply too many parties involved now; so many ways in which this could go wrong.

"How? There's no one left to."

Natalia frowns, her eyes dropping to the ground as she mutters, "they just will. They always do."

"So that means you've tried before?" Dugan catches.

"No," the girl replies sharply, jerking upwards once again to fix them with a harsh glare, "we never tried. Because we knew what would happen if we did. We were not stupid!" Even if Natalia's words hadn't convinced Peggy, the way she was biting off her sentences, the defensiveness; that would've done it.

And somewhere inside of her, Peggy's patience snaps.

"Alright," she spits out, striding forward a few paces so she's looking down at the girl, "I'm not going to beg. If you want out, you come with us. I spared your life, and I know you can help me, but not as much as I can help you. But you have to _want_ it," she takes a moment to take note of the lightening sky- a surefire sign that this little meeting needs to wrap up soon before someone other than Sawyer wakes up, "there's risks involved- for us both- but this is the moment where you need to decide what you want. Your past doesn't define you if you chose not to let it."

There's a silence then, strung thin between them. It's hard to remember the seemingly impenetrable mask the girl had worn earlier when there's a thousand emotions all too evident in her eyes now. Disbelief and distrust, for sure, but- and Peggy truly hopes she's not desperately searching for something that's not there- something bright too. Something that shines with all the hope a child can have in the world.

"You saved my life. I owe you…" Natalia finally says, echoing back Peggy's words in a soft voice.

It startles Peggy, because that's not exactly what she'd hoped the girl would pick up from her. She doesn't want this girl to see it as simply as repaying a debt- God knows, the world didn't work that way, like a series of transactions- but, she supposed, it was something. It was cooperation.

"You do."

Natalia nods once, twice, hands clenching at her sides. Then she straightens. Her gaze lifts level with Peggy's and the myriad of emotions are once again gone, replaced with a steel that for the first time lets Peggy believe that this crazy plan of hers might- just might- pull off.

"Alright," the girl finally says, "I will help you. I will go back with you."

Peggy stares.

Right then. Alright.

She looks to Dugan, and though he hasn't voiced his thoughts, the downright disbelief with her decision is clear in his wide eyes. She ignores it.

She has to save Howard. She has to figure out what Leviathan is. They can only hope that this girl, and all the substantial risks she brings, are worth it.

"We need to find her a good hiding place."

* * *

It's only as they're preparing for departure that Dugan manages to catch her alone again, and his words are intense and determined; whispered pleadings in her ear.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Peg."

She looks up at Dugan, at one of her closest friends and one who'd been by her side through some of the worst things the world had seen. The doubt he's showing in her decisions, Peggy knows, is born only for a fierce desire to keep her safe, which is why instead of ripping into Dugan like she'd do for any other person, Peggy smiles softly. "Me too."

"What makes you think you can trust her?"

Looking over her shoulder to where the plane sits, dark metal glinting in the morning sunlight, Peggy watches. The other men were saying their goodbyes, completely oblivious to the girl hidden carefully inside. " _Remain completely silent_ ," she'd told Natalia, " _completely silent. I won't be able to help you if the others discover you here_." The young girl had nodded, what little of her face visible in the low light drawn in sharp lines and apprehension. Peggy had turned to leave then, but stopped short. " _I'm trusting you here, but you have to trust me too; I'm not going to give you away_."

And once again, the Natalia had nodded.

Now, Peggy looks up into Dugan's face. "I don't, but I have to believe she wants something different."

"Well," he sighs, shifting slightly on his feet, "I've learnt not to doubt you."

Peggy smirks. "The hard way."

"Don't I know it." He looks around then, making sure that the others aren't paying them any special attention. When he speaks again, his voice has dropped to a whisper. "Seriously though, Peg, watch yourself. Question everything. You know better than me that nothing is as it seems. Just…" he trails off, seemingly thinking intently, "that other girl… the kid didn't mention how she died, but she must know."

Peggy frowns, thinking back to the instant where the girl- Dasha, she now knew her as- had registered the bullet that'd struck her; the slight widening of her eyes, the collapse of her body. She'd been shot from behind, but with the amount of people that had been there it hardly narrowed don who'd fired the gun.

Peggy hadn't seen Natalia during that firefight, so maybe she'd been watching from the vents, in which case, with her hawk-like gaze, it was certain that she'd seen it unfold. Then again, she'd been one of the apparent few to actually escape the collapse, so what's to say she hadn't been safely outside the whole time? Maybe it was one of the things Peggy hoped distance would help Natalia to share.

Or maybe it would remain one of the secrets lost to the fire.

Either way, it's obvious Natalia has more information that she's letting on.

That's exactly what Peggy's counting on.

Dugan lets out a low breath through his teeth. "Just make sure you know who's got your back," he says, "Dunno what Cap would've done if something happened to his best girl."

Peggy smiles sadly, pulling her friend into a hug. "I'll be fine," she whispers into his ear.

It's a hollow promise, and they both know it. But that was all part of the game.

"Carter, hurry up," someone says from behind her. It's Thomson, his face set into a cool mask- a sharp contrast to the panic that had him frozen all those hours ago. They hadn't had the opportunity to talk about what she'd seen in the facility and ever since he'd kept their contact to a bare minimum.

She turns back to Dugan. He tips his hat, watching her with careful eyes.

"See you later, Peg."

* * *

Natalia had never been scared of the dark. For her, there was simply nothing to be afraid of. In the shadows, no one could see you hiding and no one could see your face. There was something that came with that anonymity, a sense that you could simply melt into the darkness and see the world around you but never to be touched.

It was freedom. Plain, simple and perfect.

Hidden in the darkness of one of the empty crates that were stacked precariously at the back of the plane, Natalia draws her knees to her chest, gripping them tightly and suppressing a shiver. She's never flown before, at least that she can remember, but the shuddering, jerking motion of the plane was oddly similar to that of the large convoys Natalia had been transported in often before.

And those were memories she did not remember fondly.

By her reckoning, two hours have passed since they'd lifted off the ground in Belarus. As they'd risen, the twin engines groaning horribly, Natalia had had the childish wish to press her face to one of the windows, to see the snow and trees disappear as they flew impossibly higher and higher. What would the world look like, she'd wondered, from this height? Untouchable?

The loud voices of the men had quickly died down, exhaustion obviously overweighing any desire to keep a conversation going, but Natalia was no fool. They'd still kill her in a heartbeat. Instantly. Without hesitation- but Natalia understood that. She was dangerous; her whole life she'd been groomed to be nothing less. She was deadly, she was a threat, and she was Russian.

Those elements together made whatever had made the British agent- "Peggy," Natalia whispers impossibly quietly into the darkness, surprised at how easily the name falls off her lips- doomed to fail; inexcusable, couldn't she see that? Bringing an unsanctioned person- a trained assassin, none the less- to America was suicide, punishable in the most severe of ways.

At least, it would be under the Soviet regime.

But America… Even the name itself sends a sense of foreboding down Natalia's spine, a chill she can't shake off, _because it was what she had been drilled into thinking_.

America: land of the oppressed, the source of all fear.

_("Consider America, Natalia, consider a place so corrupt in its freedom that chaos and tyranny strike down any chance of its advancement. Consider a state where the very people are fractured, fighting among themselves like animals. That is the very opposite of our united nations. That is the true enemy.")_

Natalia shuddered. The voice of one of a faceless instructor has haunted her since before she could remember, but she usually has enough presence of mind to at least ignore the whispered words taunting her actions. But it's almost as if her subconscious has suddenly realised the extent of Natalia's insubordination, and is now attacking her with every bit of information she had been trained to believe.

_("We owe our lives to the preservation of the Bolshevik regime. Only in this servitude will we know happiness.")_

No. No, that wasn't right. That was a lie, they always lied. The Red Room-

_("You will not fail. You are made of marble")_

_("Kill them, Natalia. They're the enemy now; kill them all")_

_("Focus…")_

Gasping slightly for air that catches in her throat- yet fully aware of the need to stay silent- Natalia curls into herself impossibly tighter. She doesn't know, has never known, where the distinction between truth and lies is, if there even is one to begin with. And there was a part of her that wondered if it mattered either way.

(" _Just focus…")_

Maybe the world was black and white, or maybe it was coloured in shades of grey. But to her it would always be drowning in red.

Her blood, her friends', her victims; red, red, red.

So she repeats one of the few things Natalia knows to be true.

_My name is Natalia Romanova. I have no place in the world._

* * *

**I would really really appreciate it if you could please leave a review telling me what you're thinking bout this story so far. Seriously, it'd me amazing. But thank you regardless for reading. Hope to have the next chapter up soon-ish!**

**-F**


	5. These Shadowed Nights

**So wow, this took a super long time to get out, and it's an extremely tiny chapter, a filler one if I'm honest. So so so sorry for those of you still reading, I've just been caught up in so many different things that I completely neglected this story. I'm really hoping to get back into the swing of this and the feel of the story, so yeah, should be much longer, faster updates in the future.**

**Once more, thank you so much for reading! I'd love to hear any thoughts you have :)**

_ Chapter four: _

There's several things Peggy had never expected to do in her life. Smuggling a Russian girl into America was one. Knocking on Howard Stark's door at four in the morning- with said girl in tow, none the less- was another.

Peggy curses, raising her fist to bang on the door for another time. "Jarvis! Come on, man, I know you're in there!"

Granted, it is horribly early in the morning, early enough that her frantic knocks were echoing through the night air, but she has no doubt that Stark's butler was taking his sweet time in getting to the door, if just to teach her some lesson in proper etiquette. But Peggy was rapidly heading towards forty-eight hours of no sleep and was currently in danger of God knows what with the girl standing mutely at her side- the last thing she wants to do is deal with Jarvis' temperamental musings.

Finally, there's sounds of movement on the other side of the door, creaking and clicking and a suspicious whirring sound as numerous locks are undone, then a gentle groan as it opens slightly.

"Miss Carter," Jarvis says, peering at her through the narrow gap with even narrower eyes, "just what disaster has occurred to warrant such a rude awakening?"

She searches past him into the gentle light that wavers from inside the house. "Is your wife home?"

The butler huffs. "Thankfully, Ana was called away to Los Angeles for a few days and so is fortunate enough not to experience this unearthly interruption."

Feeling Natalia shift slightly at her side, Peggy snaps, "Mr. Jarvis, would you really expect me to disturb you for anything less than an emergency?"

"I'd like to think you'd come to me for anything, Miss Carter."

There's entirely too much sincerity in the man's words for Peggy to deal with in her crazed state. It's true though, of course, that she's been relying on him more than any other person since… well, for years at any rate. It's unnerving to say the least.

"Right," she moves on, determined to focus on the task at hand rather than her damn emotions, "I've got a strong lead on Leviathan with a highly dangerous source. Does Howard have anything that could potentially hold a prisoner?"

To his credit, Jarvis barely blinks. "Miss Carter," he replies, "I was under the impression that you've been in Russia for the past few days, and all I can see here is a little girl- hardly a source of great information or danger."

"And that, Mr. Jarvis, is where you fall into the very trap she was taught to present," Peggy places a heavy hand on Natalia's shoulder, gripping it tightly. "And she's going to help us free Howard."

Jarvis huffs. "Forgive me, but I'm struggling to see what this girl and Mr. Stark have in common."

"Well, that's what we have to find out. Now, is there anywhere in that mansion behind you that could be used for an interrogation."

The butler falls quiet, and Peggy watches as his eyes flick over Natalia's deceptively small form. The butler himself is a testament as to why one should never judge from appearances, and yet she doubts he's going to believe the deadly capability of this girl. After all, hadn't Peggy underestimated the other one in exactly the same way? Hadn't Juniper paid for it with his life?

"I'm assuming," Jarvis says at last, "that this isn't particularly legal?"

Peggy feels Natalia's eyes cut to her face, can sense the weight of her gaze, but she intently ignores it, instead replying with a simple, "no, it's not."

Jarvis shifts slightly on his feet, casting a glance past her to check that they're alone, before saying, "well then, you better come inside."

* * *

Natalia was staring suspiciously at the flickering golden barrier in front of her, the one that gave off a steady thrumming sound of live electricity and crackled dubiously whenever anyone got too close.

The electric shield, as Jarvis had explained it before, cut through half of the concrete bunker that had formerly stored some of Howard's more debunk projects, but had now been fashioned into a secure cell. Windowless and strong, Peggy was sure that as long as the shield wall held up- to which she was admittedly cautious about, given Howard's history of designs and the wall's tendency to send out a shower of sparks at random moments- there was no way anyone was getting out of there unaided.

Not that Natalia looked up to be in any shape for attempting an escape, or much of anything for that matter. They'd placed a small cot in her half of the makeshift cell, and the girl was sitting on it, pale-faced and hands shakily fisted around the metal rim as she took in her new surroundings. The darkness of the room served only to accentuate the shadows beneath her eyes and the harsh slashes of her cheekbones.

Dressed in a child-sized military uniform, exhaustion curling at her spine, Natalia looked little more than a broken doll, plucked off the shelf and placed in an environment she was too ill-suited for. It's such a far cry from the desperate girl she'd been back in Russia, it's startling.

"Well," Jarvis says, straightening from where he'd been tinkering with some of the hardware, "I think that's done the trick." He twirls a screwdriver in his hand and gives the box a tap- only to startle back when it lets off a shower of sparks in response.

Natalia just stares at him.

"Right- good," Jarvis stammers, "I'll just-" he exits the room with little more preamble, and Peggy returns to studying Natalia's penetrating gaze.

Obviously, Jarvis is substantially different to anyone the girl has ever made; granted, the butler is fundamentally unlike those usually in this business. If the girl was planning an escape, undoubtedly, she'd target him. Peggy would have to brief Jarvis on proper precautions in the morning, but for now Peggy was fairly certain this makeshift cell was secure enough to contain the little Russian soldier.

For now, it'd have to do.

"Try to get some sleep," she tells Natalia softly, before following Jarvis out the door.

And just as she leaves, there's just enough light from the flickering golden wall to catch the outline of the girl's impossibly small form, curling even further into herself amid the growing shadows, and a whispered farewell of, _доброй ночи_.

_Good night_.

* * *

**Yeah, definitely a filler chapter. But the timing felt more right like this. Really progressing with the story in the next few chapters.**

**THANK YOU!**

**-F**


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